


Brazen Bull

by NotASpaceAlien



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Ancient Times, Gen, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2016-05-25
Packaged: 2018-06-10 13:39:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6958873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale attends the inauguration of what he assumes to be his foe’s latest invention, but he soon discovers the demon is just as disgusted by it as he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brazen Bull

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/144882647050/brazen-bull

Aziraphale ghosted through the wall, tiptoeing through the astral plane to gain access to a scene to which he had failed to secure an invitation the human way.

The tyrant Phalaris sat at the center, and at his side was a beautiful creature, with long, shiny black hair and a smoldering gaze.  It also had long, delicate legs, and breasts, and presumably other parts human men would be interested in.  Aziraphale knew this because this creature had seduced Phalaris and had been languishing in the luxury of his palace for months.  Aziraphale had been lurking around Sicily trying to figure out a way to thwart this particular wile, but was not having much luck—his adversary had been much quicker to catch onto human ways than him, and Aziraphale still struggled to manipulate humans with any finesse.  So here he was, in the same chamber only because he had broken into it. The humans couldn’t see him, but his adversary’s piercing yellow eyes snapped up to him as he entered, and the demon gave him a smug smirk, and then leaned over and began to sensually press his lips onto Phalaris’s neck.

Aziraphale had taken the pains to come in illegally because he knew something was about to happen. His adversary had been corrupting Phalaris, and Phalaris—presumably at the demon’s request—had commissioned a brutal method of executing criminals.  And it was about to be unveiled.

It _had_ already been unveiled, Aziraphale saw:  it was in the center of the room.  A huge brass bull, imposing, its face turned upwards and twisted into an expression of sorrow, its polished horns shining in the light of the torches around them.

The demon and the angel turned their attention away from each other and towards the instrument’s creator as he began to explain how to use the device.  Aziraphale’s stomach sank further as he went on.

Of course.  What had he expected?  Crowley was a demon.  Cruelty was his specialty.  He would be very pleased to have brought something like this into the world.

He looked over and saw his adversary’s face was stone cold, barely suppressing some unreadable emotion. Phalaris was growing disgusted, angry. His seducer’s hand was wrapped tightly around his arm; the smug expression was gone.

The demon leaned over, whispered something into his ear.  Phalaris put a hand on his.

“Perillos!” said Phalaris. “You say that the acoustics of this device will warp the victim’s screams?”

“Yes!” said Perillos. He seemed pleased.  He was the only one in the room who seemed pleased.

“Why don’t you give us a demonstration?”

Perillos opened a hatch in the bottom of the bull and leaned down into it.  Phalaris made a gesture, and one of his royal guards strode forwards and pushed Perillos in, locking the hatch behind him.

“Light the fire,” said Phalaris over the outraged howling and pounding coming from the inside the bull.

The entire room stood in electric silence as the flames licked the bull’s belly, and when it began to glow with heat they heard it: a human scream, twisted through a labyrinth of pipes, emerging as a bovine roar.

The demon suddenly unfolded himself from Phalaris’s lap, bolting from the room.

The terrible sound faded into the distance as Aziraphale padded out to follow him.  He found the demon in the hallway, one hand against the cool stone, shaking with laughter.

Only when the demon twisted, retched, and vomited violently did the angel realize the shaking _wasn_ ’ _t_ laughter.

“You must be pleased with yourself,” said Aziraphale.

The demon spun to face him, a look of helpless shock on his face.  “I—I had no idea it would be like _that._ ”

“What did you _think_ it was going to be like?” said Aziraphale harshly.  

Crowley put a hand on his mouth, swallowing.  “They just _said_ ‘make some trouble,’ I had no _idea_ …that humans were capable of _that_.”

“You push them,” said Aziraphale.  “This is your fault.”

“I didn’t ask for this,” said Crowley.  “He offered. Phalaris offered.  He thought such cruelty would make me happy.”

“That instrument wasn’t your idea?”

Crowley shook his head. “Angel, I had never imagined that humans were capable of…greater evil than me.   _He_ made them.  Why are they like this?”

“You’re one to talk.”

“You’re not _listening_ ,” snarled Crowley.  “I’m _supposed_ to be evil.  That’s my job.  And I just got outperformed by someone _supposed_ to be one of God’s favorites.  Isn’t that what humans are?   _Why?_  Humans know better than anyone else how fragile they are!  Why aren’t they more careful with each other?  Why do they make it so much harder for each other?” He kicked the wall.  “Why the _Hell_ do they insist on making the world _more_ fucked up than it already is?”

Aziraphale was stunned by this display of emotion.  He would have thought that Crowley, being what he was, would be pleased about it. “What did you whisper to him, serpent? In that moment when he was vulnerable?”

Crowley gave a tart laugh. “I told him, ‘If he’s so pleased with it, he can test it out.’  I guess it works pretty well.  If this is what humans are like on their own, they don’t need my help.  Angel, what have we gotten into with this assignment? With this planet?”

Aziraphale didn’t understand what he meant by that.  He wouldn’t understand until millennia later, but he would.

Crowley would remember this for a long time; he would remember it during the Inquisition, during the Black Death, during every moment of cruelty he saw that humans produced. And he would especially remember it when he was laughing at humans trying to pick up coins that had been glued to a sidewalk, or act like it was the end of the world when their phone line was tied up, or there was a traffic jam on the M25, and humans were being petty and miserable to each other.  He would remember it in every moment of evil attributed to him, every commendation he got giving him credit for things humans did, every time a criminal claimed the devil made him do it.  He remembered that they didn’t need his help.

He would also remember it during Aziraphale’s missions, at every soup kitchen and homeless shelter, at every time a hat went around for donations and came back filled, every time a human helped a wounded animal, with every disease cured, with every moment he stumbled and a stranger helped him up and asked him if he was okay.

He remembered it every time someone tried to claim humans were fundamentally good, or fundamentally evil, or fundamentally anything, because the only thing humans consistently did as far as Crowley could tell was surprise him.

**Author's Note:**

> My pal [Theotherbookwormfanperson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOtherBookwormFangirl) used a doll maker to make an illustration for this fic!! It can be found [here](http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/152357064170/theotherbookwormfanperson-you-must-be-pleased)!


End file.
